


Changing Seasons

by Chancy_Lurking



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Originally Posted on Tumblr, but only breifly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancy_Lurking/pseuds/Chancy_Lurking
Summary: It clicks then and Geralt rears back some. “Why would you be going to Kaer Morhen?” he asks, confused.Jaskier is a man of motion, constantly, even at his most peaceful, even in his sleep. The stillness that slams through him makes Geralt’s hair stand on end even before he catches the look on Jaskier’s face, the faint sting of hurt in his scent.(Jaskier and Geralt have minor misunderstanding before winter.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 320





	Changing Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLlamas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLlamas/gifts).



> Cross-posted to tumblr @lurkerviolin from a prompt list for my buddy!! 💕

The season turns over with creeping slowness this year, the cold trying to break through in fits and starts that keep losing the battle to the end of summer. Even so, it’s cooler, now, pleasant enough that every town they pass through is filled with open doors and windows. The windows in the rooms they rent stay cracked at night, even though Jaskier shivers and complains when he gets up in the morning.

It’s a flimsy excuse to get into bed with Geralt every night, but be it far from Geralt to call the bard on it. He causes far less trouble twisted up under Geralt than he does climbing the skirts of all the married women in town.

…That’s a flimsy excuse, too, but if Jaskier isn’t getting called out, Geralt isn’t going to start analyzing himself either.

Then again, maybe Geralt _should’ve_ done a little more examining of their relationship, because something is obviously off.

Jaskier has been flitting about all week, talking about getting better winter gear, sturdier boots, weather proof casing for his lute, magical hand warmers— _can’t well play a lute with numb fingers, dear witcher!_ —and Geralt has let him without any more comment that usual. Now, though, they’re standing outside a shop and Jaskier is about to spent half his coin on things he has _never_ needed at Oxenfurt.

“Jaskier, where is all this _going_?” Geralt asks before he can hand over the coin for the little ceramic figurine, blessed to stay warm for a week—a generous estimation—once filled.

“Oh, hush, I know Roach can’t carry my things, I won’t be bringing anything large,” Jaskier assures him, patting his chest soothingly. “Or superfluous! I’ll be selling my perfumes at our next stop. As much as you complain on the open road, I can’t imagine your brother witchers would enjoy being closed indoors with it all winter.”

It clicks then and Geralt rears back some. “Why would you be going to Kaer Morhen?” he asks, confused.

Jaskier is a man of motion, constantly, even at his most peaceful, even in his _sleep_. The stillness that slams through him makes Geralt’s hair stand on end even before he catches the look on Jaskier’s face, the faint sting of hurt in his scent.

“I…” Jasker shakes his head. “I thought that we… well,” he laughs, but it’s not at all a funny sound. He puts the trinket back on the table, watching his hands far more carefully than is really needed. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Wrong about _what?_ ” Geralt asks, stepping into his way before he can bolt from the shop, but Jaskier is already smiling at him, so wide his eyes crinkle shut. Geralt’s heart sinks like he’s missed a step. He’s made a horrible, horrible mistake if Jaskier is so obviously hiding from him, but he _doesn’t know what it is_.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jaskier is quick to assure him. “My heart got ahead of my heels, is all. A common bardic ailment if ever there were one, don’t worry.”

_His heart got…?_

“I didn’t mean to presume, though I suppose I should’ve asked,” Jaskier continues in a flurry, waving his hands about as he side steps Geralt. The smell of his hurt wafts up with every motion and Geralt aches to think he caused it. “It’s okay if you don’t want me along, it won’t change anything for us, alright?”

Oh.

If Geralt were even half as callous as people accused him of being, his life would probably be much simpler. But he’s not callous, he’s just incredibly _stupid_.

“Jaskier.” Geralt catches his arm gently to stay him. “You _want_ to come with me?” he clarifies, because his head is spinning.

It’s Jaskier’s turn to look confused. “Wh…? Of course?” His brow pinches as he turns to face Geralt squarely. “Whyever would I _not?_ ”

Geralt’s eyebrows raise sharply. “Why would you give up a winter spent doing what you love for _hard labor in the cold_?”

Jaskier’s face clears immediately. “Oh.” he says, and Geralt thinks he’s finally gotten it, finally understood what he’d be in for, but then Jaskier swats him on the arm, his scent suddenly sharp with anger and heavy with relief. “Oh, you _bastard fool_ , you damn near broke my heart!!”

Geralt reels from the change of tone. “What—?”

“I do love teaching and I’m certain I will have an opportunity to teach again,” Jaskier says, jabbing a finger into Geralt’s sternum. “Likely once I’ve gotten too old to hack The Path with you, but what I _love_ ,” he continues quickly, over the flicker of alarm Geralt always feels about Jaskier’s aging, “is a thickheaded witcher who’s going to be up a mountain, doing hard labor in the cold.”

“…Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_ ,” Jaskier replies a bit crossly. “ _Honestly_ , Geralt, I know I make for a pretty song bird, but if hard work scared me that much, I’d have taken up with some vapid little lordling, not a _witcher_. I know I’ll need to earn my keep, same as always.”

Geralt almost rushes to assure him this wasn’t a commentary on his weakness—he’s had years of learning the strength under Jaskier’s frills—but his tongue gets tied up around too many words. Around the idea that Jaskier _loves_ him, _genuinely_ , enough to trek up The Killer for him, knowing full well there’s still going to be more work to do at the top.

Jaskier loves him, has loved him for ages now and demonstrated it plainly, but it took the equivalent of a blow right to the nose for Geralt to get it.

Thickheaded, indeed.

“No, I—It… You weren’t wrong,” he blurts, eloquently. “About us.”

Jaskier’s shoulders come down a fraction, expression softening as he reaches out to squeeze Geralt’s wrist. “Thank you, dear heart, I gather that, now.”

“I’ll… I could spend some winters near the university,” he presses, because Jaskier is about the only thing on the continent worth a winter locked away from the keep. In years future, he could see the idea of returning to Oxenfurt as… a home away from home.

Jaskier has _always_ been his home away from home.

The words earn him a genuine smile and an alarmingly public kiss to the side of his mouth. “I’m sure you will,” Jaskier replies, but stands taller, head held high. “But I’ve got youth in me yet! There’s work to be done this winter, no?”

“Hm,” Geralt agrees. Turning back to the shop, he picks up the warmer Jaskier had been eyeing, returning it to his hand and digging out his own purse. “What else do you need?”

“Besides you?” Jaskier teases and Geralt graces him with a fond eyeroll.

“You already have me, Jask.”


End file.
